


Do You See The Light In My Heart?

by Los_Gwilwileth



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Estrangement, Family Issues, Gen, Grief, Loss, Mourning, Slightly Dark!fic, Trust, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:03:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3836323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Los_Gwilwileth/pseuds/Los_Gwilwileth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil mourns, and retreats into a place where he thinks love can't find him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You See The Light In My Heart?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Did_you_see_the_light_in_my_heart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Did_you_see_the_light_in_my_heart/gifts).



> I own nothing! All credit goes to J.R.R Tolkien and Peter Jackson.
> 
> This fic is a gift to Did_you_see_the_light_in_my_heart, for being the first person to comment.
> 
> Also, I wanted to try writing something a little darker.
> 
> Elvish:  
> Ada - Dad  
> I think of Adar as formal(Father) and Ada as informal(Dad)

Ever since she had gone, Thranduil had felt empty. Where his heart once sang like a bird, flying free, soaring high in the air to sing his joy and love to all, there was a hole. It was vast and endless, with an edge that crumbled like sand, time slipping through his fingers and retreating back into the dark. The memories slipped back into his mind, dancing through empty clearings and across silent rivers to bow before an ancient oak. There was no marker, nor did there need to be. He was alone here, with none to witness the rending of his heart as he watched her pale face bid him goodbye, to look after their son. Their son. The beast clawed again at his heart, fangs bared, and with another bloody chunk of joy gripped in its jaws, it retreated back into that void of grief.

He could never rid himself of the scars. He grasped at his duty, clinging to his mantle of kingship like a man grips onto a fragment of wood from his drowned ship, too afraid to let go, paralysed by a future with no hope in sight. It was his penalty, his noose. To carry on, to talk like inside his heart wasn't drying up like a stream in midsummer heat, a clipped bird desperate to escape the cruelty that war and men could bring. She was everywhere. The wind still carried her voice through the trees, though it was but a echo of her laughter in days when peace still reigned. The flutter of her dress could still be seen on summer evenings, a scrap of deep violet fabric just visible on the balcony, but gone before anyone could recognise. He was weak for clinging to these precious half-moments, for clinging to any sort of fleeting comfort that would fade like winter melting into the spring. But winter had claimed his heart, and all he could do was wander among the bare trees, calling her name into the silence as he waded deeper into the snow, the flakes settling softly on his cheekbones and beckoning him to immerse his pain in the frigid cold, rendering him numb and distant for another precious few moments.

He was the only light in his now-barren world, and he shunned him for it. Deep in the icy wasteland in which his heart now dwelt, the ember that she had left him began to darken, the once-strong fire now almost cold and black, neglected because of the memories that weren't his fault. 

He couldn't stop the agonised expression that crosses his father's face every time he looks at him. He longs to see that expression replaced with a smile, but he knows he can do nothing. His father does not want him; only her. And she is gone. It is fear that drives him to this moment, to the vast doors of the king's study, grovelling for a touch of warmth. He cannot think of him as his father, only as the king. His father is wandering alone in a land without boundaries, searching for a gift that could not be given twice. The king's face is still a mask, carved of tears that froze and were covered with skin, a dark glamour that hides the twisted agony beneath.

" I can see the light in you, ada." The mask cracks, a trickle of surprise running down the marble facade. "I can see the light in your heart." He does not know what happens then, only recalls a hot rush of grief that almost drowns him in its intensity, and suddenly he is standing in the land where his father has been hiding from the truth. Silently, he holds out his hand, and his father takes it, the first step in repairing a bond that should have grown strong and loving instead of withered and cold.

And then they walk together, not in loss; but in memory.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
